


Operation: Let’s Make Tristan Jealous…Because I Really Want to Kiss You

by Shewhogeeks



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Coming Out, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Learning about yourself, Moving On, Season 1, but not really, featuring cameos by Dean and Tristan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:13:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shewhogeeks/pseuds/Shewhogeeks
Summary: (Set during Season 1 Episode 18)
In which Rory makes mistakes, moves on, and learns something new about herself.
---
“You want to...fake-date,” Rory manages.
“Don’t make it sound so Pretty Woman,” Paris says, taking another bite of ice cream.





	

It’s a cool fall day at Chilton. It’s the day after the big party and Rory is still reeling from the romantic hangover that Dean left her with. Tristan and Rory are sitting on the beach in the courtyard, reluctantly discussing the kiss that shall-not-be-named and trying to clear the air, when the idea just pops into her head. Tristan should date-

“Paris, what about Paris?” she says.

“Paris,” says Tristan, looking doubtful.

“Yeah, you have a lot in common and Paris is crazy about you,” says Rory, warming up to the topic.

Rory knows Paris can come on strongly, but it's just passion mixed with nerves. Not that Paris would ever admit to such a mortal emotion as fear.

“But, you know, Paris is…Paris.”

Sure she was overly zealous at times, but there was something genuine about her that Rory really respected. Paris knew what she wanted in life and she took it.  Just went for it. She needed to ease off the gas petal every once in a while, sure, but Rory knew that there was something special underneath all the anxiety. And yes, a little bit of rage.

Paris was something that you couldn’t control, it was something that happened to you, raging throughout your system and devouring you whole until you had to either surrender to the current or learn how to swim.

Tristan nodded his agreement, however reluctantly and promised to think about it.

It would make Paris happy, dating Tristan.  She might smile at Rory more and be more relaxed. Class time might involve more talking and less mortal combat.

When Paris smiles, she smiles mainly with her eyes, as if she can’t allow the whole of her happiness to escape her mouth, because others might see. It feels like a secret that only Rory knows.

When Paris shows up at her doorway to prepare for her date, Rory practically hauls her up to her mother’s room in a hurry. Categorizing all the clothing in the closet, she’s filled with glee at the thought of dressing up Paris. She pulls out bright and cheerful clothes to bring out a different side of Paris, but one that was not too different than her normal Paris-ness, and piles them on the bed.

Paris may not be the dressy type, but Rory manages to find an outfit that makes Paris feel comfortable and that she looks absolutely adorable in. Both she and her mother had worn that skirt multiple times, but Rory’s certain she’d never noticed quite how nicely someone’s ass looked in it before. From a purely aesthetic point of view, of course.

When Paris comes out from behind the door, looking shy and unsure, Rory wants to smooth back her hair and kiss her check. To help her regain her normal self-confidence she has when she debates other classmates at Chilton.

If she feels slightly uneasy when she tells Paris that she’s going to have a great time with Tristan, then she puts it off to a bad burrito. She might not have had a burrito that night, possibly not had one since last Tuesday, so it must be a particularly bad burrito that was several days in the making, but either way it was only a burrito, right?

And so what if this burrito comes back in full force when she sees Paris walking down the hallways of Chilton, with a fully fledged smile on her face. Rory feels happy and sad at the same time, and it’s much too confusing for this time of day.

“Did you have a good time,” Rory asks, a forced smile on her face.

Paris reassures her that she did. For once she’s the center of romantic attention. Paris bolts over to Tristan when he comes through the door.

Rory feels like there’s something systemic shifting inside of her.

She barely has time to breath before Tristan delivers the- _we should be just friends line_ \- and then the Paris train roars back to her. Paris’s eyes flash when she’s angry and it makes Rory want to push her up against the wall and kiss her. She wants Paris to look at her like that when she walks in the room, like she took all the air just by entering it. She doesn’t know what to do about it, because that’s exactly how she feels whenever she sees Paris. 

Rory knows she looks ridiculous, with her mouth hanging open and her face growing hot, but even though it feels longer, Paris finishes ripping her a new one in a few seconds and then storms off. At first she feels confusion. This is followed by rage at Tristan for not being able to keep a secret. He just had to make Paris feel unwanted. Couldn’t he see how much Paris wanted to be wanted? 

What if she stopped speaking to Rory altogether?

Instead of confronting Tristan, Rory gets up and leaves the room. She looks up and down the empty hallway and then heads for the parking lot. But halfway down the hallway she spies Paris hiding out in their math classroom. She’s sitting behind the teacher’s desk- of course she is- and has her head in her hands. “Stupid, stupid,” Rory hears her mutter.

Rory steps inside cautiously.

“Hey.”

“What, what do you want,” snaps Paris.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” Rory says. 

“Oh, sure, like you didn’t come to gloat. Well, pretty miss perfect, I guess Tristan is all yours, just like every other pathetic boy in this school.”

“I don’t want to date Tristan,” Rory sighs. “I don’t feel that way about him. I’m sorry, but he’s boring and if he doesn’t like you like that then, well, you can move on to bigger and better things.”

Paris continues to glare at her, before sighing and standing up, leaning her body against the desk.

“Fine, I’ll move on. Now please leave me alone to wallow.”

Rory considers leaving, but she can’t stop thinking that maybe they can be more then this. They just have to start trusting the other person. 

“Can’t we wallow together?” Rory puts forward tentatively. “I did just break up with my boyfriend.”

“Tall and clueless?” Paris eyes her with interest now. “You broke up?”

Rory rolls her eyes. “Yes. He broke up with me.”

Paris mutters something that sounds like  _he’s even more clueless than I thought,_ before striding over to her and placing both her hands on her shoulders. 

“New marching orders Gilmore,” she says to Rory, who can feel a blush creeping up her cheeks. “We can wallow together, but there must be Chinese food and lots of chocolate.”

“It would be my pleasure,” Rory manages. “To the car Madame,” she gestures mockingly at the door, putting space between them.

Paris steps around her. Rory sighs in relief and follows her.

After a brief stop to grab several tubs of Chinese food, two cartons of Ben and Jerry’s, and a copy of Dirty Dancing, Rory pulls into her driveway with Paris in the passenger seat.

“Let’s get some spoons and open these bad boys up,” she says, grabbing the ice creams.

“No need to get chopsticks for these,” says Paris, a wry grin on her face. “I’ll just upend the entire carton of chow mien into my mouth.” 

“Sorry, but you must have silverware in order to properly wallow. It’s the house rules.”

“What about the scallion pancakes?” 

“Scallion pancakes are practically pizza. It would be unjust to eat them with utensils. But that is a notable exception,” Rory says, knocking the car door closed with her shoulder. The leaves crunch under her feet as she walks to the porch. There’s a promise of frost in the air.

Lorelei’s car is noticeably absent and Rory feels a guilty thrill as she opens the door to the house and lets Paris inside. There’s a note on the fridge held down by a large magnet of Andre the Giant with money attached to it. Maybe they’ll order a pizza later. Rory sets down the ice creams and rummages for a spoon. She takes a big bite out of the Chunky Monkey.

Paris comes up behind her and pulls out a fork and some large spoons. The small space forces her to lean against Rory, who freezes, her spoon still in her mouth.

“So, Gilmore, I’ve been thinking,” says Paris, still in her personal space.

“Hmm?” Rory intelligently answers, lips clamped around the spoon. She pulls it out and dips it back into the ice cream.

“About what you said about moving on?”

Rory leaves the counter, abandoning the ice cream and sits at the kitchen table. She studies the grain of the table. “What about it?”

“I really feel that the best way to move on would be to date someone else. Preferably someone who Tristan likes. It would make for a brilliant revenge.”

Rory looks up at that, ready to tell Paris that revenge isn’t actually a healthy past time, but she’s distracted by the fact that Paris has started eating her abandoned ice cream using her spoon. It’s a strangely intimate gesture.

“And,” continues Paris. “I know exactly who he likes. And they owe me a favor.”

Rory tilts her head to the side in confusion.

Paris rolls her eyes. “It’s  _you_  moron.”

Oh.  _Oh_.

“You want to  _fake_ -date,” Rory manages. 

“Don’t make it sound so Pretty Woman,” Paris says, taking another bite of ice cream. “I’ll pay for the movie tickets and popcorn, and all you have to do is act charmed and agree with my anecdotes about our date. It’s perfect.”

“You know we don’t actually have to go out in order to make stuff up, right?”

Paris looks momentarily flummoxed. “Not if we do it properly,” she snaps, her cheeks red. “You’re going on a date with me and that’s final!”

There’s a quiet ringing in her ears as Paris stares her down. 

This is a terrible wonderful idea. “Fine,” Rory says, throwing up her hands. “If you want to date me so bad, then you can!”

“I will!” Paris shouts back.

“Fine!”

“I’ll pick you up at eight on Friday!”

“I like Italian,” Rory shouts at her retreating back.

Paris sits on the sofa, instantly calmer now that she’s won. She’s still holding onto the ice cream tub. “Maybe for our second date. And bring in the Chinese food, will you?”

Rory fumes for a moment and then brings the food in. She starts the movie and sits down next to Paris. 

Paris casually throws an arm over her shoulders during the movie. Rory doesn’t lean into it. Nope. Absolutely not.

“Stop pouting,” Paris murmurs into her hair at one point. She suppresses a shiver. “I hear from reliable sources that I have excellent dating potential.”

Rory turns her head slightly. The distance between her and Paris’ face is an afterthought. “I’m not going to give you compliments if you keep insisting on using them against me.”

Paris smirks, leaning closer and Rory feels her stomach dissolve into butterflies.

The door to the house swings open loudly. “I hear Patrick Swayze,” yells Lorelei in greeting.

Paris is suddenly at the other side of the couch. Rory is decidedly irritated.

***

Rory doesn’t tell Lorelei about the date. She tells her about everything else, but leaves out the weird tension developing between Paris and her that possibly isn’t one sided? Everything feels strange and foreign, but not necessarily in a bad way. She just doesn’t want to add more strangeness to the mix. Not yet.

Lorelei will probably take that she wants to date girls too just fine. It’s the Paris part that might throw her.

When Paris drives up to her house Friday, she’s out waiting on the porch.

Lorelei knows she’s going to see a movie. She raised her eyebrows at the date-like clothing Rory’s wearing, but didn’t comment.

As the car headlights hit the windowpanes, Rory catches a glimpse of her mother ducking behind the curtain. Rory runs out before Paris has a chance to get out of the car. The wet leaves make her slide a bit in the grass and she slams into the hood with both hands. Paris rolls down the window, looking amused.

“Get in Bonnie,” says Paris, leaning out the car window. “Before the cops get here.”

“So demanding Clyde,” Rory replies, opening the passenger door and slipping inside.

Paris backs out of the driveway without comment. Rory studies her for a moment and realizes that she’s wearing her hair up in a fairly fancy hairdo. There’s a bright blue pendant rest lightly over her chest. Rory resists the urge to pat her hair down. She wishes that she had asked Lorelei for outfit advice.

At least she isn’t wearing her Chilton uniform. That’s just a little too D.E.B.S. for her liking.

It’s a warm night. The windows are rolled half down and the wind smells damp and intriguing. Her hair is flying around in all directions as she watches Paris’s profile against the dark glass. Rory doesn’t pay much attention to where they’re driving until they pass the movie theater and keep going.

“Umm, Paris, we just passed-“

“We’re not going to the theatre,” Paris responds, still watching the road.

“But-“

“Shh.”

Eventually the buildings begin to disappear and they are traveling down a dark road surrounded by fields. Paris turns off onto the long dirt road. The car rocks as the wheels pass over a rock. At the end of the road is a small white building. Paris turns off the engine.

It’s utterly quiet and it makes Rory want to fill the silence.

“If you’ve brought me here to murder me, you shouldn’t have let me tell my mother I was leaving with you.”

“As if I’d make such an elementary mistake,” Paris quips, before smiling shyly at her. She gets out of the car and pulls something bulky out of the trunk. There’s a crunch of footsteps on gravel and then Paris is placing the machine on the hood of the car.

It’s a projector, Rory realizes. 

Paris makes her way over to the passenger side and opens the door. She holds out her hand to Rory. “I, uh, brought a blanket. If it gets too cold we can always sit in the car with the heat on, but I thought that this would be-“

Rory grabs her hand and pulls her over to the plaid blanket excitedly.

They watch Arsenic and Old Lace, the black and white movie flickering over the white wall. Paris offers her a box of Junior Mints. She happily bites into one, chocolate and mint mingling on her tongue. This time Paris burrows into her side, leaning her head on her shoulder. Rory feels warm and tingly. They watch the movie in silence.

It’s only after the movie is over and they’re packing away the blanket and projector, that Rory realizes something.

“Hey Paris?”

Paris closes the trunk. “Yes?”

“Wasn’t the whole point of us going to the movies that people would see us together?”

There’s something like flash of triumph in Paris’s eyes, similar to how she looks when a debate opponent has said something particularly obtuse. “You’re right Gilmore,” she says. “I guess we’ll have to try this again next week.” She ducks into the car before Rory can protest.

Not that she was going to. She chuckles and gets in the car.

They pull up to her house. Paris walks her to the porch. Rory feels bubbly, but confused about what Paris wants. This isn’t a real date, right? So kissing Paris would be the wrong move. Maybe.

Maybe not.

She hesitates on the first step and then turns around to face Paris, who is following close behind her. Her fancy hairdo has surrendered fully to the wind. Her hair curls around her cheeks. Rory bends down and tucks a stray piece of hair behind Paris’s ear. Paris’s eyes widen and Rory realizes that she’s letting her hand linger on her cheek too long. She bends down quickly, before she can talk herself out of it, and presses a light kiss on Paris’s cold cheek.

When she pulls back, Paris’s eyes are closed and her cheeks are flushed. Rory almost gives in to temptation, but she’s still afraid of what might happen if she pushes too hard, too fast.

“Goodnight Paris,” she breathes instead.

Paris’s eyes open. “Goodnight Rory.”

She can feel Paris’s eyes on her as she enters the house and shuts the door behind her. Rory leans against the door for a moment and tries to compose herself. 

***

School is strange. Paris isn’t avoiding her exactly; she’s just not talking to Rory unless it’s absolutely necessary. Which might sound like classic avoidance, but that was only for other people. Paris avoiding you meant a lot of glaring and talking over what you were saying and having other people pull you into bathrooms just so she can ignore you face to face- well it was a lot more confrontational than the normal avoiding. Paris still spoke to her when prompted and she even smiled at Rory when she sat down in math class. But she wasn’t going out of her way to talk to her either. And Rory really wanted to talk to her, to demand Paris tell her what she thinking. They were fake dating now, didn’t that mean that Paris would want her to do something? Hold her hand, kiss her against her locker, even just talking to her? Anything would be nice.

In English class Paris is looking straight at the teacher, taking notes. Rory is trying to do the same, but her notebook is filled manly with scribbles and question marks. 

The bell rings and Rory gathers her stuff slowly. Maybe she can just bump into Paris if she times it right. Paris shoves all her stuff neatly into her pack and stands up. Madeline and Louise are flanking her as usual.

Louise nudges Paris who glares at her. “How was your weekend?” She asks undaunted. “I had a fabulous time at the concert with Jason… or was it Fred,” she frowns.

Madeline jumps in. “It was Fred. Jason was my date. Tall guy. Great abs.”

“Oh yeah. Those were great abs.”

“Make a point or get out of the way,” Paris grumbles, her eyes flitting to Rory who gives a little wave. Paris looks away and Rory wants to crawl in a hole. Why did she wave at someone two feet away? Who does that?

“So I haven’t heard you say a word about your weekend. And everybody knows what went down with you and Tristan at school. What happened?”

“My weekend was good. Now let’s go-” Paris said, rolling her eyes.

“Whoa, hold up.”

“ _What.”_

“You heard that right?” asks Louise.

“I did indeed,” says Madeline.

“Look Paris, we’re not stupid-”

“That’s debatable.”

“Your weekend was good,” she continues. “Good. Nothing with you is good. Your weekend was fine, that I could buy. But good? After Tristan humiliated you in front of everyone?”

Paris locks eyes with Rory, who knows she’s intruding, but she can’t gather her stuff fast enough- “Yes,” Paris drops her gaze. “It was nice.”

Madeline’s mouth drops open. Louise and her exchange looks. “Well, look at you already on the rebound.”

“OMG, who is he-” Louise squeals.

Paris snorts.

Rory flees the room.

“Let’s just get to Chem before we all die of old age” she hears behind her.

Well that answers one question. Neither of them was supposed to talk about last Friday. If Paris wanted everyone to know, she would have told her friends everything, and they would have told everyone from Mr. Medea to the statue on the front courtyard.

Rory can’t decide what the twisting feeling in her gut is. It’s not like she wants to have Louise and Madeline bothering her with questions. And they weren’t even dating. Not really.

Even if Rory is determined to get Paris to realize they’d be perfect together. Well not perfect, but not the opposite of perfect- what was the word- real. Yes, they’d be real.

During Chem she’s focused on measuring and pouring chemicals. She can vaguely hear Louise and Madeline quizzing Paris for details, but Paris isn’t budging and has taken to outright ignoring the two of them.

The bell rings. She stuffs her notes into her backpack and runs to the next class.

 ***

Rinse, lather, repeat. The next few days seem to run together. She doesn’t get a chance to talk to Paris at school, she drives home and does work, she hangs out at Lane’s and thinks about telling her about Paris. She is desperate for advice, but she doesn’t.

On Wednesday she heads to Luke’s for a late night hamburger and fries and runs into Dean. She hasn’t seen him since the breakup. She has been doing her best not to think about the split, but when she sees him everything freezes. He does the same. Then miraculously she has a revelation- that they live in a teeny-tiny town and that they are going to see each other. She can’t hide from him (not anymore). And she knows that she’s partly to blame for hurting him, for the way they were easing apart slowly. She wanted to be free, but she also didn’t want to be because it was easier to stay. Because she knew it would hurt to have it end.

Rory takes a deep breath and walks up to Dean, who looks like he’s about to bolt. “Hey Dean,” she says, smiling tentatively.

He’s looking everywhere but her. “Hi Rory.”

“How are you?”

“Fine, fine,” he mutters. “What brings you to this section of Stars Hallow?”

Rory jerks her thumb toward Luke’s. “Coffee and French fries.”

“Can’t go wrong with that,” Dean manages, his hands in his pockets, as he rocks backwards.

It’s awkward, but they’re already relaxing a little more in each other’s presence. Her stomach rumbles and she decides that’s enough for one night.

“Well, I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah, sure.” He nods at her.

She walks into the diner feeling invigorated. She manages to convince Luke not to give her decaf coffee for her and her mom- he’s still ultra protective of her since the breakup with Dean, and like a responsible kid she gleefully uses this to her advantage, scoring an extra portion of onion rings along with her food. With warm bags of food clutched to her chest, she walks home.

It’s only when she passes Dosey’s market that she realizes she’s completely okay after seeing Dean. Lingering awkwardness is her only concern. She’s over him.

She sits on the couch with Lorelei and cries while her mother rubs circles into her back.

Endings are hard. And it’s really, really over.

 ****

She sits next to Paris during lunch on Thursday. She’s talking a mile a minute, stabbing her salad as she makes a salient point. Madeline and Louise look at Rory strangely when she sets her tray down and then turn to Paris to see how they should react. Paris studies her for a moment. Rory smiles and takes out a book. Paris goes back to talking and the other two relax. There’s a lull as she chews. She sneaks a look at Paris across the table and catches a small, private smile. Her chest flutters.

Friday she opens her locker to find a note slipped inside. It’s so ridiculously formal that it can only have come from one person. Who signed her name- in cursive. Of course.

_Rory,_

_I will pick you up at eight o clock tonight. We will be dining at an Italian restaurant per your request. This outing will require relatively formal clothing, so dress accordingly._

_Sincerely, Paris_

She smiles like a loon all through History. The teacher calls on her multiple times to make sure she’s paying attention. It’s only English that makes her smile drop. 

It’s the last class of the day and Rory has seated herself in the front so Paris doesn’t distract her, but somehow knowing the girl is sitting behind her still throws her for a loop, so she almost misses when the teacher announces the homework. Almost.

“On Monday you will turn in a five-page paper on Animal Farm and how it warns us of the dangers of a naive working class-”

There are a number of groans. Rory is among them.

She pulls her stuff together after the bell rings and turns to ask Paris about rescheduling. But Paris is already gone.

 ***

Rory’s armed to the teeth. She has her battered copy of Animal Farm, a book on Russian revolutions, and an outline on her mother’s bed, right next to three rejected outfit choices. She messily scribbles down a quote from Animal Farm with one hand and applies eyeliner with the other.

She’s wearing a cute black dress and has plenty of ink stains on her hands when the doorbell rings. Rory’s eyes snap to the clock. It’s 7:17. Plenty of time before Paris said she was going to pick her up. She goes back to looking over her mother’s jewelry.

Rory heard the front door open. There are voices she can barely make out and Lorelei is calling up the stairs.

“Honey? Paris is here.”

Rory slams her book shut, grabs her purse, and runs down the stairs. Lorelei meets her on the landing. ‘Why is Paris here on a Friday? Again?’ She communicates solely with her eyebrows.

Rory gives her a sheepish look as Lorelei notices her clothing, but says nothing.

“Hello,” Paris greets her, looking her up and down quickly. Rory flushes and tries to duck around Lorelei, who reaches in her hair and yanks out a pencil as she passes.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Her mother asks dryly.

“I’ve got a five page essay due on Monday,” she protests. 

“And you’re going out?” Lorelei looks skeptical. “Well, don’t let me stop you from having a good time. Where are you to going?”

“We’re just getting some dinner,” Paris replies. 

“Okay. Well, I guess I’ll go get dinner at Luke’s. Don’t stay out too late,” she hugs Rory from behind. “Go be a rebel, but a very safe rebel.”

“Use the force for good, not evil. Got it-”

“And stay away from chasms with impractically long drops and no guard rails,” Lorelei yells walking to the kitchen.

Rory slips off her tennis shoes and grabs her formal ones from the front hall. As she shoves them on in a hurry, she notices Paris practically vibrating.

“So, is there a reason you’re here so early? Your note said eight.”

Paris shrugs. “I just figure we’d both want to get an early start.”

Rory looks at her for a moment. Paris is wearing the same outfit she’d picked out for her movie date with Tristan. She also looks like she’s about to take off running.

Rory toys with her purse, considering.

“What?” Paris asks.

“If you’re worried about the essay, we could always just order a pizza? You know, like a study date?”

Paris looks at her incredulously. “You mean you’d rather stay in and study then go out to a fancy restaurant?”

“Well-”

Paris kisses her hard and quick on the mouth. “Thank goodness.” She bolts out the door. There’s silence for a moment. Buzzing invades her head suddenly, like a delayed reaction to poison. Rory debates whether she should go out after her when Paris rockets back inside, carrying a tote bag filled with books.

“Come on Rory, these books aren’t going to read themselves.”

Rory grabs the hall phone still feeling tingly.

“Do you want pizza?” She asks Lorelei, who is pointedly reading a magazine.

“No, no. I’ve already decided what I’m getting at Luke’s. I’ll be out of your hair for an hour or two.” She flips the page, and then gets up and grabs her puffy blue coat while Rory is dialing.

The phone rings and then a high-pitched teenager answers.

She orders a large pizza and some brownies. As she finishes up the order, Lorelei squeezes past her in the hallway, her coat crushing into Rory’s back when she bends down to placing a light kiss on her head. She fumbles with her keys and then looks furtively at Rory. She smiles tightly and leaves.

Rory hangs up the phone and looks towards the kitchen table. The magazine is upside down, facing away from where Lorelei was sitting.

Something tells Rory that she is the topic of discussion tonight.

***

Rory tears into the pizza, burning the top of her mouth on the melted cheese. She’s perched on the ottoman watching Paris out of the corner of her eye. Paris is sprawled on the floor of the living room, her back propped up against the couch. Books tile the floor. They’ve been in intensive study mode for almost an hour now.  Rory’s nearly got her outline down and Paris is already starting on the paper itself. She’s scribbling with near manic intensity.

It’s nice. She could get used to this.

Paris looks up and catches her staring. She doesn’t react, just looks back down at her paper. But there’s a curl to her mouth that wasn’t there before. Rory is obsessed with its shape.

By ten o’clock Rory’s got a good half of her paper completed. Paris has stolen her first few pages and is editing them. The open pizza box on the coffee table is mostly empty. Rory stands up and stretches. 

“Okay, I think that’s enough for tonight. Let’s take a break,” Rory says.

“Did Catherine the Great take a break?” Paris asks, still reading.

“Presumably.”

“Fine.” Paris flings the pages up onto the couch. “What do you propose we do?”

Rory reaches down to pull Paris up to her. Paris looks at her hand, looking strangely venerable. Then the look in her eyes vanishes and she accepts the hand.

When Rory tries to lift her, Paris pulls her down instead. Rory happily follows, even though it means that she’s positioned oddly on the floor, her knees around Paris, limbs in danger of going everywhere.  But Paris leans back, and is still close enough to touch and Rory does.

She strokes her hair and kisses her lips and then her neck. Paris lets out a soft sigh and winds her hands around her shoulders.

 *** 

When Paris leaves at eleven, Rory is grinning hard, her skin tingling. They kiss deeply at the door and then Paris ducks out to her car. Lorelei still isn’t back, which gives her a slight pause, but she’s too excited that Paris agreed to her proposal for a third date tomorrow, as well as the idea that they seem to be on the same page now.

Rory wraps herself in her blanket. The thick scratchy material of her quilt is juxtaposed with the warmth it is giving off. She slips easily into sleep.

Half in a dream about making sandwiches at Luke’s, she hears a door open and close. She scoops coffee ice cream onto a cheeseburger and adds chocolate sauce. There’s a ruffling of fabric by her ear. 

Paris is sitting across from her. “I’m not going to eat that Gilmore. It’s not kosher.” Rory smiles at her. “It’s dairy free ice cream,” she replies.

Another blanket is tucked around her. Is it a dream or is she awake? Rory rolls over and starts stirring matzah ball soup. Paris adds pepper to the pot.

She awakes to light streaming in through the window. Rubbing her eyes, she lets out a yawn and peers at her clock. It’s too late to go back to sleep. She resigns herself to getting up.

Then she looks around her, and blinks twice, suddenly awake.

“What the heck?” Rory asks her room.

Her room is a flamboyant study in bi pride.

Various items in shades of pink and blue adorn her walls. Pictures of Walt Whitman, Frida Kahlo, and Marilyn Monroe paired with info sheets are tacked onto her wall. Rory looks down. She’s now tucked into bed by a bisexual pride flag.

As she gets out of bed, she notices an addition to her Harvard corkboard. It’s a list of LGBTQA friendly clubs and organizations at Harvard.

Rory shakes her head at the pamphlet. She sticks her head out the door. Her mother is dozing on the kitchen table, one hand wrapped around a coffee mug, the other propping her head up. She feels a surge of fondness, as a small part of her that she hadn’t realized was tense, relaxed.

“You panicked.” Rory says.

Lorelei grunts a confirmation, making a thumbs-up gesture. Without opening her eyes, she answers.

“It occurred to me at three am that you could also be a secret lesbian, but all the stores were closed and the Internet was being mean to me, so you’ll have to wait two business days if that’s the case.”

Rory thinks about it for a moment. “No, I still like boys too. Want some coffee?”

Her head migrating forward onto the table, her mother pushes the empty mug towards her. Rory makes an extra strong pot.

She pours herself a cup and then fills her mother’s. Taking a seat she notices that a half made poster is sitting on her chair. It’s covered in glitter and still wet glue, but Rory can still see her own face and the words “Soon-to-be Famous Bisexual”.

She gingerly places the poster on the floor next to her to dry.

She blows in her coffee and takes a sip. “Mom,” she says.

“Yeah, kid?” Lorelei says, not moving her head, but slowly inching her hand towards the full coffee cup.

“I’m not ready to let anybody else know yet. I mean- can you imagine what Ms. Patty would say?”

“Marry often and early.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know. And I’m not going to tell anybody else until you tell me too.”

“What do you mean anybody else?”

Her mother opens her eyes, looking guilty. “I sort of told Luke?”

“And?”

“He says he’ll fight any boy that breaks your heart, but Paris is way too scary, even for him.”

“Mom!”

“He’s fine with it. We both are. This doesn’t change anything about how he feels about you. The same goes for me. I was just thrown when I caught you-. I thought we told each other everything-”

“It kind of snuck up on me,” Rory says.

“Really? Because Paris doesn’t seem like the type of kid who does subtle.”

“ _Mom_.”

“I should have known not to permit you to do Romeo and Juliet with the girl-”

Rory rolls her eyes.

“It’s the gateway play I tell you,” Lorelei continues unabashed.

“Yes, because there’s nothing less heterosexual then Shakespeare,” Rory mutters sarcastically.

“Okay, so mums the word,” says Lorelei, making a zipping motion across her face and the miming throwing away the key. “And I’ll tell Luke to stuff it too. Though I don’t know how I’m going to get him to quit gabbing. He’s such a big talker. Just talk, talk, talk all the time.”

Rory puts down her coffee, and jumps when Lorelei places a hand on her arm. Her eyes look deadly serious. 

“All I ask,” begins Lorelei, and Rory feels a twinge of foreboding, “is that when you’re ready, when you tell my mother- I get to be there to see the look on her face.”

Rory stands up intent on filling her empty mug. “You’re mean.”

Her mother cackles evilly, while Rory refills her cup. “Mean,” Rory reiterates.

“She’s too stuffy for her own good. Let me have this one loin fruit.”

“Mean!” But a wicked grin crosses Rory’s face that she can’t quite suppress. And she doesn’t want to.


End file.
